


Baby, it's cold outside

by Waynesgrayson



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Bad Decisions, Blood, Christmas, Dark!Matt, Dismemberment, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, Fluff, Gore, Gore and Blood, Harassment, Kidnapping, Language, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Murder, Poisoning, Stalking, Torture, explicit violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 09:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5492072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's quiet for a while and Foggy starts to think that maybe the Devil has left, but then he gets his response.<br/>“Evening, darling.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, it's cold outside

**Author's Note:**

> It is almost 2 in the morning where I am and I have been sick for two weeks, so I have no idea how this turned out and I forgot where it was going about halfway through...this sounds so promising...I'm sorry.
> 
> But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless! Be gentle with me.
> 
> Title taken from: Baby, it's cold outside

The man lets out a strangled groan as he falls to his knees. He has enough function left in him to move his head and watch his killer move in front of him. He watches with horror in his eyes and pain on his face as the Devil kneels in front of him, and cups the back of his head with a leather grip. A sound of anguish escapes his throat as the Devil pulls him forward, the man mindlessly grabbing onto the Devil to steady himself.

He tries to shake his head when the Devil begins whispering a prayer and let's out nonsensical cries when the blade is brought to his throat and bites his skin. But he can't get away, the hand on the back of his neck is holding him still and close; a silent threat in the way the hand tightens the more he tries to move.

His whole body shakes as the blade drags across his skin, cutting him clean open, blood rushing out of the wound and gushing to the ground and on the Devil himself. With one final lurch, he falls forward,

dead, as the Devil finishes his prayer.

The Devil stays kneeling for a moment longer as a sign of respect. He stands, allowing the mans body to hit the ground with a thud. He belts his blade and brushes his hands down his attire, the mans blood being rubbed into the fabric by the movement. He lifts a hand up in front of him, and rubs his fingers

back and forth, enjoying the slickness the blood brings. He brings his fingers to his mouth and rests his index on his tongue, and drags along the length, licking the blood clean off.

The Devil hums, the sound deep in his chest, before walking off; stepping over the body in his way.

\--

“God, this city can't catch a fucking break.” Karen says, leaning forward as she passes the newspaper to Foggy. He takes the paper with a furrowed brow and Karen sits back in her chair, picking up her coffee off the table and taking a tentative sip.

As he reads, the only thing he can say is, “Holy shit.” Karen nods, a strained smile on her face, one that says she's horrified at what happened, but not really surprised. And Foggy agrees, not much happens in Hell's Kitchen anymore that doesn't generate a heavy sigh from her inhabitants.

“This guys is messed up, like big time. When are they gonna take him out? When half of New York is dead?” Karen asks, more rhetorical than not, placing her cup down and folding her arms over her stomach.

Foggy sighs and throws the newspaper down on the table between them. “Might be awhile. Lots of people live here.” he takes a sip of his own coffee, and makes a face when it's too hot for a proper taste. He places the cup down and leans back in his chair.

The coffee shop is quiet for a Monday morning, but then again, no one wants to go out after the Devil does something like this. Killing twelve men at the docks tends to put people on edge, no matter how desensitized to violence they've become. Foggy can't really blame them. Even though it's the day time, there's a chill in the air. A feeling that clings to the skin in ways that you can't seem to shake no matter how hard you try. If he could, he knows he would have stayed home, too.

“I don't want to be awake.” Karen says with a groan as she rubs her eyes with the tips of her fingers.

Foggy huffs out a laugh and nods. “I know the feeling. I would have stayed home if I could.”

“ _Fuck_ , we have to go to work, don't we?”

“Yes ma'am,” Foggy checks his watch, “have to leave in the next fifteen minutes.”

Karen drops her hands from her face to the table, she looks up at the ceiling. “Why?”

“I don't think you'll get answers from him, if you get me. Pretty sure he's left the building.”

Karen looks at him, a small frown on her face, but question in her eyes. “You think so?”

“Come on, the city is run by the Devil. I would like to think that if he did exist that the big guy wouldn't let that kind of shit stand.”

“Maybe he's upset with us. After all, New York is full of sinners.”

“And you'd know all about sinning, wouldn't you, Karen Page.”

That gets her to smile. “Shut up, Nelson.” she says as she stands. She pulls her coat off the back of her chair and swings it on. As she fixes her hair she says, “Come on and let's go. I don't want to be late. Last time I was late I was put on photocopying duty. Almost did my head in with the damn thing.”

Foggy chuckles and stands. “Well, we can't have you braining yourself with the copier. Bad for business.”

\--

“You ever think about leaving and doing something else?” Karen asks. She shoulders her bag as they step outside into the harsh winds early November has to offer.

“I guess, not really. Why?” he asks as they bump shoulders, walking closer together the more crowded the streets becomes. Everyone rushing home after a long day of whatever they fuck they did.

Karen shrugs. “I don't know.” she tucks strands of hair behind her ears in an attempt to get it to stop blowing all over her face, but it's pointless. She waves an annoyed hand in the air. “I know we can't exactly do better than Landman and Zack, but it's horrid there. We're not helping anyone.”

“Yeah, but we're still interns.”

“We've been here for almost a year and it's shitty as all fuck, and you know it. We could actually _help_ people.”

“How? Yes, it's shitty there, but there we have a small something that could be a big something. Opportunity.”

“Opportunity to become some of the most hated people on the planet. They're sharks and assholes, Foggy. We could start our own thing, and actually make a difference.”

The crowd reaches a corner, and they follow the one that turns and flows until they can duck into one of the subway entrances. They take out their passes and scan them through, before making their way to their platform, standing and waiting.

Foggy sighs. “I mean,” he starts, but stops. Karen fixes her windblown hair out of her face and looks at Foggy. He sighs again. “We could do it. But at the same time – can we? It's a lot.”

“Yeah,” Karen says, nodding, “but it'd be worth it. Wouldn't you feel better and sleep better at night knowing that we helped at least one person instead of ruining the lives of many?”

“I'd sleep better at night if I got paid.”

Karen elbows him, and Foggy nudges her back. “You don't mean that.”

“I could.”

“But you don't.” she raises an eyebrow at him as if daring him to continue.

Foggy nods. “You're right, I don't.”

“We could do it. Yeah, it'll suck and we'll probably never eat again. But we could do it.”

\--

It all happens pretty fast - almost a whole year later. One moment they're interns at the prestigious law firm Landman and Zack, and the next they're signing a lease to a tiny office building in a rather sketchy part of Hell's Kitchen. Thank god Foggy stole those bagels before they left, because Karen was right. Who the fuck knows when they'd eat again.

They walk around the empty space, the realtor leaving them to their own devices. Karen's smiling the entire time as she takes in the rather shitty and beat up rooms that are now theirs.

“It's perfect.” she says with a wide smile, arms extending out on either side of her. He wouldn't be surprised if she began to twirl and jump from excitement.

He looks around, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, it's all right.”

Karen's arms drop to her side and turns to face him, a scowl on her face. “Shut up, it'll be great.”

Foggy frowns. “What, I never said anything!”

“You did with your tone. You think it's ugly.”

He tilts his head back and forth and raises his shoulders, “It kind of is.”

Karen glares at him but it has no heat. She hold it for a few seconds before letting it go and sighing.

“Okay, so it's ugly.” she allows, “But we can change that.”

“Oh, _totally_.” Foggy says, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He walks over and stands beside her. “Especially with all that money we don't have anymore.”

He jumps back a little when Karen quickly turns and pokes him in the stomach. He laughs.

“It may be ugly, but we can turn this into something great. I feel it in my gut.” she looks at him with warmth and an undeniable spark dancing in her eyes. “We're going to do some good here, Nelson.”

\--

There's a man who lives in a fairly nice apartment building in Queens by the name of Henry. He works for an office, selling people things they don't want. He arrives for seven and returns home by six thirty. He's liked enough by his co-workers and has started seeing a nice woman after their online dating profiles matched them to each other.

Henry also downloads child pornography and sleeps with underage prostitutes, taking them back to his apartment and sending them out looking worse than before. Some, don't even make it out.

He's also hanging from his ankles in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city. Left shirtless and without pants, left with only his socks on. He's bleeding from various cuts decorating his body. Deep enough to draw blood, but not enough to kill him, all the while keeping him in agonizing pain. The blood falls slowly down his body and onto the floor. The drips echoing throughout the warehouse as they fall into the puddle forming underneath him. His face is red and the vein in his forehead are prominent as he tries to cry out for a god that can't save him now.

But nothing can really be made out over his cock.

Cut off and stuffed in his mouth as one of the first acts done to him tonight. The wound was left unattended as the man who inflicted it doesn't care. Leaving Henry to bleed out from his crotch area to the point of passing out several times, only to be woken by the nicks of a knife.

He shudders and cries out when he sees the shadow move across his vision. Struggling in the bonds that tie his hands and feet together, digging even further into his skin with his movements. His wrists and ankles are already rubbed raw from his earlier panic, but he is beyond noticing that pain, having it gone numb hours ago. In a swift movement, his cock is removed from his mouth, and he gags and coughs for a moment. He attempts to spit, but it just lands on his face and ends up trailing into his nose.

“Please...please...please...” he says over and over again in an ignored mantra. Eyes struggling to follow the movement of the man he knows is in the room with him. For a while he thought he had left, the only sounds in the room that of his blood dripping, his laboured breathing and cries of pain and for help. But every once in awhile he'll hear a sound so quiet he isn't sure he even hears it. Like the soft squeak of leather moving against leather.

There, but not there at the same time.

But when the man moves, it's unmistakable. His boots hard and confident against the concrete floors. The slight swishing sound of his pants and the dull swat of the side of a blade being smacked against his leather hand.

“Please?” The Devil questions with the tilt of his head as he steps out of the shadows and into the light provided by the moon shining in through high windows. “What an odd thing to beg. Please.”

He kneels in front of Henry and drags the blade from his jaw line to the middle of his cheek. Not a hint of joy or amusement in his voice, nor a smile while Henry jerks and cries out.

“Say it again.” his voice is quiet and low, but the command is not lost on Henry.

“P-please...please don't kill me...” the manages, eyes tearing up again and snot clogging up his nose.

The Devil tuts at him, and fists a hand in Henry's hair causing him to cry out.

“Do you know how many times those children said please, begging for their lives as you _raped_ them? As you stole any and all innocence left in them. Their souls died inside of them and you laughed as they begged. How _dare_ you beg me, and how dare you ask for your life to be spared.”

He releases Henry's head and pushes him away, the man swinging forward and backward on the rope.

“I won't do it again!” he begs, “Ju-just let me go, I swear it!”

The Devil tilts his head to the side. “Do you swear to God?”

“Yes! Yes, I-I swear.”

“Say it.”

“Wha-AH!” The Devil grabs his face in between his fingers.

“Who do you swear to?”

“GOD! I SWAER TO GOD!”

The Devil smiles. “Good.” And in one swift movement, he stands, releasing the mans face, grabs his leg and drives the knife into the mans crotch. He takes a moment to relish in the mans screams of pure agony before dragging it down into his stomach, and eventually, his chest.

The Devil doesn't know when Henry dies for sure. But he knows that man was around long enough to witness what his insides looked like as they sloshed to the floor in a pile of blood and tissue. To know what it feels like to have a hand inside of him, crushing anything it can find without mercy or care.

Dying knowing what it felt like to have someone violate and demean and humiliate him without an ounce of compassion.

\--

“You know you paint such a pretty picture with your words, I sometimes have to remind myself that the real world isn't what you imagine.” Foggy says as he and Karen walk out of the coffee shop. He holds the door open for her and another person with a smile.

Karen rolls her eyes. “What are you talking about? We have a client - and you love Mrs. Cardenas!”

“Yeah, I think we love that woman way too much.” Foggy mumbles as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“We're not charging her, Foggy! She's old and lovely. Besides, she feeds us. I say that makes us even.”

“As much as I enjoy her cooking, which is undoubtedly amazing, I'd honestly like being able to afford to eat and keep my apartment myself.”

“And you will. We will, one day.” Karen says gesturing between them before hitting the button at the cross walk. She stuffs her coffee free hand in her coat pocket and looks at Foggy as they stand, waiting.

“Besides the starving and lack of clientele and all that...you don't regret this, do you?”

Foggy's eyebrows pinch together as he frowns, taken back. “What, no! I mean I know I've complained literally every single day since we've started, but I don't regret it.” he says sincerely. And he does mean it. Karen was right. If they had stayed with Landman and Zack they may have been attached to a well known and powerful law firm, working with some of the best lawyers out there, but they would also be affiliated with some of the nastiest as well. Being forced to crush and hurt innocent people all for the sake of money and a good reputation with the other top-dogs in New York.

Karen nods, and looks away, the look in her eyes giving away her far away thoughts as she looks ahead at the cross light. “Good.”

\--

“I come bearing gifts of coffee and doughnuts!” Foggy says in a impression of a deep, mighty warrior voice as he walks into their office. Karen looks up from her computer and smiles wide, clapping as he kicks the door shut and walks over to place the goodies on her desk.

“Whoo! My hero.” Karen laughs with a bounce, and she takes the offered coffee, opening the lid and setting it and the coffee aside to let it cool. As Foggy sheds his jacket and turns to drape it over the back of the chair he takes a seat in, Karen leans over and opens the box of doughnuts, and takes a jelly filled.

“Hey, did you see this.” Karen says, hovering a hand over her mouth as she takes and finishes her bite. She rubs her hands together to get rid of the powder, before grabbing her computer and turning it around of face Foggy.

Foggy frowns and squints as he reads the news article that's pulled up. He scrunches up his nose in disgust as he reads, in gruesome detail, the latest exploits of the cities very own angel of death. Three men by the train tracks were found, beaten bloodied and hanging from an over head light. After some digging, it was found that the three were hustling drugs and selling to minors.

Seems like the Devil wasn't too happy with these two. Foggy wonders if there was something more. After all, the Devil only seems to go after the worse of the worst, killing them in some of the most disgusting, albeit creative ways Foggy has ever read about. Like something out of a horror novel, or CSI. He spares a second to wonders if the Devil has cable or Netflix.

But, according to the article, they were only hanged. Nothing other than the bruises and broken bones to show that there were beaten badly before their lives ended. And while selling drugs to kids is horrific and really fucked up...the Devil seems to have gone easy on these guys.

But then again, he wasn't the one beaten and then killed so what does he know about being let off easy.

“This is gonna sound _really_ horrible” Foggy says, looking up from the computer and at Karen, “but...I kind of thought it would be worse.”

Karen takes in a deep breath, her shoulders rising. “Me too.” she sighs. “And isn't that twisted? This feels like a television show with a disappointing episode.” She shakes her head and grabs her coffee, lifting it to her lips. “Maybe deep down we're all as messed up as the Devil.”

\--

The woman shakes with pure fear. Her mouth is taped shut and her ankles and wrists are bound in rope. Its tied tight against her skin that's now rubbed raw from her many attempts to break free.

She stares straight at the man sitting in front of her. His legs are crossed and his back hunched like a kid would sit while in class. He doesn't move. Just sits like he as been since she woke up and found herself in this position. He doesn't talk, or from what she can tell, breath. Like he's actually a statue, but he's too life like to be one.

She knows who he is - what they call him. And she wishes she knew why she was here with him. She hasn't done anything wrong, not a thing in all her life. She's boring, plain, and works at a stupid office as a secretaries assistant.

She's tried to speak, screaming into the tape, trying to get him to do or say something. Surprisingly, she finds his lack of movement and speech more terrifying than his movement. But she also knows that she doesn't want him to move. So she' stuck, completely scared to the bone.

She's looked around and she can't see much of anything. Wood panels and cold grey concrete are all her vision allows her to see.

“Do you know why you're here, Dorthy?” the Devil asks, breaking the silence, and she feels her entire body fall into a level of panic she had no idea existed.

She inhales shakily, tears escaping as she shakes her head; no.

The man sighs, but nods. And it's odd. Almost like a parent who isn't surprised when their child does something stupid or bad, and then doesn't understand why it is when told. Tired, exasperated, maybe even disappointed.

He reaches out to her, and slowly removes to tape covering her mouth. It doesn't hurt as bad as she thought it would, but that doesn't stop her from trembling as he places two leather fingers on her cheek to steady her head as he removed it. She licks her lips and moves her tongue in her mouth, not liking the taste in it.

They sit in silence.

She's staring at him, and she can only assume he's staring back.

Then he starts talking. His voice is low and somewhat monotone, but not...scary or threatening.

She begins to relax when he doesn't move towards her or raise his voice. He just talks back and forth with her. If they were anywhere else and in a completely different situation, she thinks that this could be pleasant. But that constant feeling of her impending doom is resting too heavily on her shoulders and mind to make her forget the reality of her situation.

When he stops talking, and the conversation falls into a lull, she takes a deep breath in. Then another, and another before, “Are you going to kill me?” she asks, spit connecting her lips. She licks them.

“I already did.” he says gently. He moves again for the first time since he took the tape off, and she jerks back a bit, flinching as he raises an arm and shows her a needle.

“ _Oh_.” she breathes out, and fresh tears surface and drop down her cheeks, one trailing down to her lips. She licks it away as her lip wobbles. “Will it hurt?”

“No.”

She nods. “Thank you.”

\--

“That's stupid.” Karen says with a laugh. She's completely exhausted, the feeling deep in her bones and skin. She loves the fact that they started their own practice, but every case they get gives her the feeling like they'll lose it in seconds. Like the opportunity will vanish into thin air or slip through their fingers before they even have a chance. It's a silly way to think, but at the same time, it's not.

While optimistic, she knows they're still a tiny little firm established in a rather shitty part of Hell's Kitchen. They have a long way to go, filled to the brim of hard work and failures and victories before they can achieve a sliver of awareness those top dog law firms have. They're like a tiny minnow in a sea full of sharks. But sometimes they do good. Like tonight. The case wasn't anything glorious or hardcore, but the fact that they were able to – wait.

“It's not stupid. Think about it, If Thor and Batman were to-” Foggy's cut off when Karen suddenly slaps his arm and stops walking. He follows her gaze as she looks down the alley way they stopped in front of.

“What is it?” he asks, looking back and forth between her alert face and the pitch black alley. But Karen doesn't answer him, keeping her intense gaze on the alley, head moving as she tries to get a better look at whatever caught her attention.

“What do you see?”

After another moment, she says, “I think I see someone.”

Foggy lets out a sigh of relief and he gives her a half smile. “Karen, it's an alley at one in the morning. Of course there's someone in there. Probably a junkie or a homeless person. Maybe a hooker or something. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Or someone dying or being murdered.”

Foggy raises an eyebrow at that. “I think we would have heard someone being murdered.”

“So a dying person then.” and she takes a step toward the alley.

Foggy reaches out and grabs her arm. She looks back at him, a bit annoyed as she looks between him and the hand on her arm but he doesn't move it. “Let go, I wanna check this out.”

“Why on earth would you want to check out an alley when you just said someone could be being murdered in it?”

“I just want to make sure.”

“Karen-”

“If you're so worried, then come with me.” she says impatiently, turning back to the alley. She grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers, and then begins walking.

“If we die -”

“Yeah, you'll kill me, got it.”

“Just making sure we understand each other.” Foggy grumbles, as they let the darkness engulf them.

They walk in slowly and cautiously, looking around and at every possible thing, bracing themselves for any possible scares or anything that seems out of place, and if Foggy's hand tightens its grip on Karen’s, she doesn't acknowledged it.

They stop when they reach the middle of the alleyway. They both look down the to the end and from where they came. There's something in the air, something she can't put her finger on. It's making the hair on her arms stand up and the tingling feeling in the back of her neck harder to ignore. She breathes evenly though her heart is beating wildly. She's grateful for the hand in hers, it's reassuring, though she also wishes it was free so she could dig into her purse and grab her taser, but she isn't about to let go.

When her eyes go along the dumpster in front of them, her heart lurches and the feeling in her gut becomes more intense.

“I think someone's in the dumpster.” she says, craning her neck as if she could see inside from this distance.

They turn their heads to look at each other then look back at the dumpster. They take a step closer.

“You think?” Foggy asks, quickly glancing at Karen then back at the dumpster.

“Yeah.” she whispers, eyes locked on the thing like she's expecting someone to pop out at any moment.

Foggy nods and he lets go of Karen's hand.

He realizes he shaking. His body betraying his worry as he reaches forward to grasp the edge of the dumpster. It's freezing to the touch, the nights here in New York dipping into low temperatures now that September is coming to a close. He steps closer and slowly pulls himself forward with the hand on the edge. He cranes his neck to look inside. And the second his eyes recognize the shape of a person he startles. He jerks back and turns to look at Karen with wide eyes, and she's looking at him with anticipation and a question in her eyes that he has no idea how to answer.

He looks again after a deep, steadying breath, and this time he gets a better look.

Inside, there is undoubtedly a human being, but no longer looks like one. It's a man, the face still intact though that can't be said for the rest of him. He's broken and bloodied and is now just a pile of limbs and guts that cover the rest of the garbage inside. Looking up along the wall of the building the dumpster is against, Foggy sees blood splatter, the pattern as if the man was dropped from the roof.

The better look is all it takes for Foggy to pull back and empty his stomach next to the bin.

As he's bent over, spitting out the left over bile, he sees Karen approach the bin and he reaches out in an attempt to stop her, but he doesn't reach her in time.

Her screaming echoes throughout the night.

\--

They don't talk about it. After the hours spent at the scene talking with police once they found their wits again to actually do something about the fact that they just found a dead body in a dumpster, and the hours spent at the station talking about it to more officers, and even a journalist, there was nothing to really talk about.

But it was there, draping over them like a heavy blanket. It was there whenever Karen stared into space. The dark circles under eyes and the way she sometimes came to work with bloodshot eyes. The tension in her shoulders and straightness of her back. The tightness of her smile.

He isn't any better. Despite living in the most messed up city on the planet, he really was naive enough to think he would only ever read about these things in the paper the next day, or catch the broadcast about it the next night.

But now that he's witnessed it all up close, he feels oddly unreal. And granted, maybe it's not the worse thing they could have seen, but it's definitely nothing he's ever seen before. It all feels like a dream.

Karen cabs home now most nights and he can't blame her. If he didn't live just a few blocks away he would too. But every night he makes sure she's safe and sound when she gets into the back of the cab, and they promise to call each other when they make it home and the door is locked behind them.

And maybe they're being paranoid. Maybe they'll never see anything like that again. But neither are willing to take the chance.

\--

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Karen sits down in the chair in front of his desk and leans forward, crossing her arms and resting them on the desk. She looks at him with an eyebrow raised in question, waiting.

“Uhhh...no?” he says after the whole two seconds it takes for him to wrack his brain and remind himself that he has no life, so therefore nothing planned ever.

“Wanna see a movie?” Karen asks with a sweet smile and tone that little kids use when they want something their parents will probably say no to.

Foggy can't stop the smile, like he could ever say no. “Only if we can go see Krampus.”

“Shut up, no. The Christmas rom-com one.”

“How about you shut up no.” he mocks.

“No.”

“Then why do I have to shut up no?”

“Because I said so.”

“Well that's bullshit.”

“No, it's horseshit and we're seeing the one with the group of people all in love and happy and shit.”

Foggy laughs and shakes his head. “Fine, but we're getting popcorn.”

“Like I'd settle for anything else.” Karen says with a bright smile, and a 'duh' tone in her voice. She gets up and makes her way to her own desk, and Foggy feels the warmth in his heart burst at seeing her smile so sincerely for the first time in a while

She's going to be okay.

They both will be.

\--

It's snowing out, the flakes large and puffy and falling slowly, making it look serene outside. His breaths are coming out in puffs of white that curl around the air before disappearing a second later.

Foggy's fishing his keys out of his coat pocket when he hears the noise. He stops and turns his head in the direction it came from.

He feels himself start to move in that direction before he catches himself. He smiles and shakes his head, letting out a breath of disbelief at his own stupidity.

“Been there, done that.” he says to himself before continuing on the last block to his apartment.

He jumps when a man is thrown from the right of him, flies past, and lands on the sidewalk to his left.

Foggy stops, watching with wide eyes as the man scrambles up and with a frightened look at something behind him, runs in the opposite direction from which he came.

Foggy swallows, and tells himself not to turn around. Not to turn around because it is not worth seeing whatever caused something to look that scared - like they were two seconds away from shitting themselves. That, if he's going to die tonight, he doesn't really want to see the person responsible for it. He closes his eyes.

However, he wasn't expecting the feather light touch that graces his cheek. Nor the almost tender way the touch trails down and away. The hand doesn’t leave, in fact it reappears behind his head. The way his hair is grabbed isn't painful, but not exactly comfortable. The person has a strong grip on his neck and Foggy just stops himself from placing his hands on the persons chest when he pulled forward.

The person practically shoves their nose into the dip of Foggy's neck, and runs said nose all the way up from his collar bone to where his jaw connects, all the while making a loud sniffing noise.

“You're not him.” says a gruff voice and the – definitely a man - pulls away, letting the coldness of night sting his skin.

Foggy can't help it.“Him?”

But he doesn't get an answer, and when he finally talks himself into opening his eyes, there's no one there.

\--

“Allen Carter, 36, was found decapitated down by the docks yesterday morning by workers when their shift started.” Karen purses her lips and gives a curt nod at the newspaper, before folding it up and placing it under her arm. She stands next to Foggy at the little stand as he purchases a cup of probably shitty coffee.

“I'm moving to Canada.” she declares and Foggy raises an eyebrow as he hands a bill to the woman at the till.

“Why?” He nods his thanks when he gets his change, and they turn and head in the direction of work.

“Because it's a hell of a lot safer there than here.”

“Reputation aside, I'm pretty sure Canada has its own crazies. Might as well embrace the madness of home, Page.”

Karen baulks at him. “Um, have you not seen this mornings paper? Some dude was found without his head. I'm sorry, but give me guts and give me glory, but I'm not about to experience Sleepy Hollow. I don't have time for it.”

“That's good. Could put that on a card or something. I'll call Halmark when we get in. 'Hello, yes? I'd like to pitch you our new line of cards called 'The Gore the Blood and the Grotesque.' '”

“I'm being serious.”

“No you're not. Because if you are, then so am I. Maybe we did enter the wrong profession.”

Karen stops walking and she stretches her arms out and drops them at her side. “I don't want to die, Foggy.”

Oh. Well he wasn't exactly expecting that. Especially not the tone. Oh god the tone. She's scared and sounding like she's on the verge of tears and Foggy can't find it in himself to mock her because he gets it completely.

Foggy stops too, and turns to face her. “You're not going to die.”

“You don't know that!” she exclaims, flashing him a wild smile paired with wide eyes. Hysterical. “The police can't catch him, no one can! This is real, Foggy.” she walks up to him, eyes boring into his. “We have a real life mad man on the lose, killing people left, right, and centre and nobody can tell us why. It's all speculation and fancy jargon and a load of bullshit, and I don't want to have to worry anymore about being out late at night or being thankful it wasn't me who bit the bullet.”

Tears are spilling down her cheeks, her eyes becoming red and puffy as she doesn't blink. He feels the worry he always feels for her overflow and he doesn't think about, he drops his coffee to the ground and pulls her into a tight, bone-crushing hug.

\--

Karen closes the door softly, not wanting to startles the already shaken woman who just spent the last hour crying her eyes out on Karen's shoulder as she begged them to help her. Karen looks lost, her expression open as she stares at the floor, eyebrows pinched together, eyes wet and red as she holds back her own tears. She leans against the door and slowly slides down. Her arms circle around her knees and she lets out a stuttering sigh.

“There's not a damn thing we can do to help her, and it's killing me.”

“I'm sorry.” Foggy says, knowing it's not going to help in the slightest, but has nothing else to say. Karen is right. The woman came to them asking for the impossible. Karen lifts her gaze and Foggy is taken back by the intensity she's directing at him.

“I hate him.”

“I know.”

“I want him dead.”

Foggy wants to tell her that no, she doesn't. But then again, while Karen is caring and nurturing by nature, she has a darkness deep inside her. One he prays he never has to witness, and that she never brings it out. Also, he has no right to tell her how she feels, so he doesn't say anything to that.

They don't speak for a while. Karen quiet as she rests her head back against the door, and Foggy puts away the files on Miss. Gaitain, wishing, just like Karen, that this was actually something they could help her with.

But part of him also wants to scoff. Why on earth did she think they could do something about it? Take out the fact that they're only baby faced and new defence attorneys; did she honestly think that lawyers could fix this? The police can't even do anything. And with a sigh, Foggy figures maybe they were the last straw. People at Landman and Zack wouldn't have even let her up the elevator with this type of problem, so she came to the underdogs.

Foggy wishes there was something they could do. But...there just wasn't anything.

“It could be a religious thing.” Karen says quietly. “I mean, he's called 'The Devil', maybe he thinks he's doing God's will. It wouldn't be the first time people have killed claiming their only doing what God wants, and it's no secret he's a grade A crazy. Maybe he's part of a cult.”

“But we've seen the news, Karen. He's just killing bad people -”

“He's a terrorist. Foggy.” Karen cuts him off with a glare. “Plain and simple in defining him, and I don't care that he's 'just killing bad people.' He's terrifying the entire city. No one in New York feels safe anymore. This needs to end before even more innocent people lose their lives to some wacko.”

“And what do you suppose we do about it?” Foggy asks, unable to stop himself from sounding sarcastic and a tad incredulous.

“Religion.” Karen says again. “It's not a lot, but it's something, okay? We have to try.”

Foggy sighs and runs his hands over his face. He feels Karen watching him and wishes she wouldn’t.

“You know that if there was a chance we could help this woman, I would be there. But this is insane. The police can't touch him, not even the most resourceful P.I can get near him. What makes you think two shitty attorneys can find and stop him - let's not forget the stopping part, which is just crazy.”

Karen's face scrunches up in defence. “Don't call us shitty. And I never said we could stop him.”

“What, you pretty much did! Isn't that what you're talking about?”

Karen runs her hands trough her hair before tugging and making a face of pure frustration. “I don't know, okay! I don't know what I want to do!” She let's out a loud sound of frustration. “All I know is that I want this to stop. I want him gone, dead, away from here.”

Foggy holds himself back from saying anything more. He want to tell her that it's a bad idea. That they shouldn’t go and stick their noses into something that's bound to bite back, and that it will only end in trouble. But he has a feeling she already knows that and doesn't want to hear it.

He walks over and they stare at each other for a second before he joins her on the floor.

After a bout of silence he says quietly, “I know you want to help, but I don't want you getting hurt.”

Karen is silent for a while longer before. “Someone has to do something. No one has because they're

too scared to really face this guy. I'm tired of sitting here, hoping he'll just magically go away or will be caught or even killed.”

“But what makes you so sure that we're the ones to do this.”

Karen shakes her head. “I don't. All I know is that it has to end. We have to try.”

Foggy regards her for a while. The tenseness that just radiates off of her, the determination and tiredness in her eyes. The fire in her that never goes out no matter how beaten and battered she gets.

He makes his decision.

“Okay.”

\--

So maybe the movies made this whole super-sleuth gig look more exciting than it really is. Maybe it's because they get background music, and code names, and super awesome montages where things blow up and they walk away from the fire in slow motion, while not a hair is out of place on their perfect little heads.

The truth is, that it's pretty damn boring. Especially since their target makes nothing easy.

All they've managed to do is get the attention of the police and a Bulletin journalist; all warning them to keep to themselves and stay quiet if they know what's good for them. But that is not the Page-Nelson way. Why on earth would they do the sensible thing and not try and hunt down a sociopath killer who should really be in an asylum, when they can do exactly that and risk death.

“How about we just...light a signal in the sky. You know, like Batman, except with devil horns or something.” Foggy suggests one night, months into their search. They're both sitting on the floor with their backs against the wall, having given up on reading through all the cases and newspaper articles pertaining to the Devil for what feels like the millionth time. Trying desperately to find something, anything, that could give them a clue as to who the Devil is, or someone he knows, or even something personal enough to put them on track. But they've come up with nothing, and no amount of working their ways into crime scenes and questioning anyone who'll even talk to them is helping. They even spoke the number of priests that reside in Hell's Kitchen. Some took them seriously and actually gave them somewhat helpful answers, but some seemed to think they were groupies - no matter how often they said they were just concerned citizens - and told them to stop dabbling in the dark arts.

It's just dead end after dead end and it's making Foggy wonder of the Devil is even real and if the entirety of New York is not just tripping collectively.

That, or he's tired as fuck and can feel his eyeballs trying to fall out of his head from exhaustion.

Karen lulls her head to look over at him, squinting, and he can't tell if it's because she's as tired as him and is brain dead, or if it's because she thinks he's a fucking moron. Probably both.

“Why?” she whispers – yep, she thinks he's a moron.

“Because nothing else is working.” Then a thought pops into his head which he shares, “Maybe if we take over his gig he'll get angry and make himself known.”

“I'm pretty sure he'd just kill us if we did that. And besides, I don't think I could kill a man.”

“Then why are we doing this?”

“Justice.” Karen looks seconds away from dozing off. “And freedom” she adds as an after thought.

“Justice needs a nap.”

“So does freedom.”

“Then we should do that, for the sake of everything...and America.”

But Karen shakes her head. “We need to keep looking.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I could recite to you every single paper over there.” he says, gesturing to the stacks of boxes containing newspapers and journals all over their office, as well as the mess of papers on their desks and floor. “We got nothing.”

Karen sighs and Foggy has never seen her look so defeated. She rubs her eyes with the palm of her hands before running them through her hair.

“You're right.”

\--

The thing about meddling into something you shouldn't, is that it usually comes back to bite you in the ass. The only people who can get away with that shit is the Mystery Gang and the last time Foggy checked, his life wasn't a cartoon. Which is why he really shouldn't be surprised at the events that occur, and the fact that they happen to him. Except that he is, because it's so completely fucked up that he can't even begin to comprehend any of it and the fact that it very, very real. Until now.

It starts off with the feeling like he's been followed, which, is only slightly paranoid of him. Turning around every thirty seconds because it feels like every hair on his body is standing up. That nagging feeling in his gut telling him he's not safe.

But nothing ever happens, and he grows use to that feeling creeping down his spine as he walks home.

And that's when the knocks start. Someone knocking on his door should never be this stressful and terrifying. And it wouldn't be if there was someone actually there when he answered.

At first he thought maybe it was some kids getting a bit of old fashioned fun, and he didn't really mind.

But after the fourth and fifth time it transcended annoyance and dived into a sinking feeling of dread. Like he should be thankful there was no one on the other side when he answered.

So he stopped answering altogether. Which only made things worse. Though the volume of the knocks never changed, a soft rapping against the door was all he heard each night, not opening the door made him even more jumpy and nervous and many times he has to squash down the urge to throw his door open and yell.

It went on for weeks. Foggy, enduring the blood chilling experience of knowing someone obviously dangerous was on the other side of the door. Barely hanging on as suspense took hold of every nerve in his body and made him constantly on edge.

A few times he thought about asking if he could stay with Karen, but he had no real reason to give her if she were to ask why. Not that he thinks she'd turn him down if he didn't have one, because Karen totally would open her door and couch to him without hesitation. But, the fear that this might just follow him to her place has him tight lipped and even more worried. He has to hod himself back from asking her if anything odd and horror film like has been happening to her lately, but again, if she were to ask why he's asking that, he wouldn't know what to say.

Which brings him to here and now. He's standing in the hallway of his apartment, having finished another day of work, and feeling like every bone in his body is about to give out while simultaneously screaming at him to run. Though his brain is having a hard time giving orders, leaving him just standing there, breathless in the worst possible way.

Foggy thinks he might pass out if he doesn't breathe in soon, but he finds it impossible. He can't breathe, the air trapped in his lungs with no way out and he can feel his heart beating widely, demanding he does so.

But he can't because the man nailed to his door won't let him.

The dead man nailed to his door.

His mouth is open in shock, his eyes fixed on the man and he can't look away. Can't stop himself from taking in the pale skin covered in blood. The tears in his clothing and the nails that are holding him to the door through his shoulders, head, and the several in his stomach; all bent and crooked as if hammered in without much care.

The most bone chilling thing though, has to be that his eyes are open. Staring lifelessly at the ground and if Foggy were to move a bit to the right, they'd be on him.

“I'll take him down. Don't worry.” A voice says from somewhere in the dark, and for a moment Foggy's brain can't help but think it's the man nailed to his door, and his eyes widen as he continues to stare at the mans lifeless face.

Foggy tries to say something. To ask why he did this and if he's the same one who's been following him and pounding on his door for weeks. To scream, to cry, to do something other than stare at the horror in front of him.

“You stopped opening your door. Figured I needed to step up my game.” the voice says in a tone too nonchalant for this situation.

That causes a noise to escape Foggy's throat, and though he has no idea what it's suppose to mean, it causes the other man to chuckle

“If you're worried about your door, don't be. I promise I'll fix it up perfectly. Come tomorrow you won't be able to tell he was here.

“H-How has no one seen this? Heard?” Foggy manages barely, after another moment of strained silence.

“Everyone is sleeping, Foggy. It's just you, me, and Mr. Wiles over there.”

“Why did you kill him?”

“Because he's a very bad man.”

“Why is he nailed to my door?”

“I answered that already.”

A hand trails up his back and Foggy startles so violently that he's pretty sure he jumped out of his own skin. He feels chills run down his spin and the colour drain from his face at the touch that slowly runs up his back until the hand is gripping his neck. The hand squeezes gently and he feels the rest of the man press up behind him. His stomach turns even more and he has a very good feeling he's going to puke within the next three seconds.

He inhales a shaky breath with he feels a tongue lick the shell of his ear and he tries to stop himself from cringing, but can't stop his body from freezing and the tears from forming, and when the tongue is gone and in its place is a nose nuzzling behind his ear, he thinks he might pass out.

He stares at the man nailed to his door.

“You wanted my attention. Well, now you have it.”

__

 For the most part, Foggy tries to live his life as normally as possible. He goes to the same coffee shop he has every morning since he started law school and orders the same drinks for Karen and himself. He goes to work and does whatever needs to be done; fixing the coffee maker, failing at fixing the coffee maker, watch Karen successfully fix the coffee maker, and work the handful of cases they have - all while successfully evading Karen's worried looks and questions of concern.

He knows the encounter is written all over his person. How he flinches if she greets him a little too loudly and how he no long clocks out before midnight, opting to stay until it's quarter to the three and his eyes are burning from the computer screens glow.

They don't really talk about the Devil really. Ever since that night they found themselves with nothing and as defeated as ever, they haven't broached the subject. But since Foggy knows Karen, and knows that she isn't easily brought down, that she's probably still researching the man and doing everything in her power to find out something about him. Which makes him stomach churn and the feeling of guilt flare up.

He doesn't want her looking into this alone. He doesn’t even want to think about her getting hurt or killed. Or her disappearing without a trace because she figured something out or got the attention of the wrong person. But he can't do this. Can't get the images of the man – Mr. Gregory Wiles, aged 47, husband and the father of three, found dead in his office last Friday night – nailed and bloody to his apartment door, and how when he left his apartment the next morning after that night there was nothing there. Not a single hole from the nails or any blood stains.

Nothing.

And if he closes his eyes he can feel the wetness on his ear and the feeling of the man touching him as gently and carefully as one would with a baby, whispering in his ear about how Foggy has his full attention -

“Tell me what's wrong.” He looks up and sees Karen standing in front of his desk with her arms folded over her chest and a stern look on her face, but worry shining in her eyes.

“What are you taking about?” Foggy tries half heartedly, but when Karen raises an eyebrow, her expression unimpressed, he knows there's no getting out of this one.

“You can either tell me now, or, I'll take you to a bar, get you properly smashed and have you tell me then.”

“That's unethical and wrong.”

“I don't care.”

Foggy sighs, not wanting to have this conversation. “I don't wanna talk about it.”

Karen nods. “So something has happened.”

“Karen, -”

“No, Foggy.” she says, cutting him off with a harsh tone. “You've been walking around all tense and freaked. You jump at almost any noise and you're constantly looking around for something. I'm worried to death about you and yet you blow me off every time I try and ask you about it. What is going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you lying?”

“I'm not.”

“And I'm not a fucking idiot.”

“I never said you were.”

“For fucks sake, this is not what we're talking about. What is going on with you?” Foggy goes to open his mouth when she raises a finger at him, “And if you say “nothing” so help me, Nelson, I will end you.”

And part of him is fuming. Angry at the fact that she has him in a corner, demanding that he tell her what's wrong when he doesn't have to if he doesn't want to. That she needs to respect his want to stay quiet and should leave him alone.

But then the other part of him and so desperate to tell someone about what happened that it burns his insides. Makes his stomach turn hot and his breathing to pick up the need is so strong, and in this moment he's fighting himself. The words are right there on the tip of his tongue and they're staring at each other, and the blatant worry in her eyes makes him want to crumble and cry on her shoulder. But, he doesn't want her to get hurt, and this whirlwind of emotions is giving him a headache.

He gestures to the kitchenette. “There's a bottle of something under there. I think we're both gonna need it.” and he prays to whatever the fuck is out there that he's not about to make a huge mistake.

\--

Turns out there were two bottles of something under the kitchenette counter, and even with his share of each bottle flowing through his veins making the story telling easier, it's still not enough.

They've made their way to the floor, and his head is in Karen's lap. She's leaning against the door and her fingers are running through his hair as he tells her every detail he can remember, not bothering to spare her anything. After what they both had gone through what now feels like forever ago, he feels like it would be an insult to her to gloss over anything.

He talks over the lump in his throat and the burn of too much whisky, and ignores the tears that well up and spill over, trailing down to touch cheeks only to disappear into the fabric of Karen's skirt.

And when he finishes with a whisper they sit in the silence. Letting it wrap itself around them until it's almost too quiet.

\--

It's really stupid of him to turn her down. He should be in his apartment packing a bag and taking full advantage of Karen's insistent offer for him to stay with her. But as much as he knows he should take it and how disappointed she is in him for not doing the sensible thing...he can't. That nagging feeling in the back of his mind keeps telling him that it's a bad idea and that he'd only put her in danger gets louder every time he thinks about her offer.

So he declines but promises to call her every night and agrees that if he doesn't, she can call the police.

Which seems a tad bit excessive - except it's not.

She's worried, he's scared out of his freaking mind, and as he closes the door of his apartment he isn't sure if he wants silence or not.

\--

The night is empty. The streets lights casting it's glow on the dark streets making everything look slightly yellow and dirty. There's no snow tonight, just a cold that bites at exposed ankles and faces, forcing everyone to bundle up until the layers makes them almost too warm.

The heel on her boots leave deep indents on the snow left over on the sidewalk. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her head is down in an attempt to save her face from the cold wind.

Arms grab her around the waist and pull her off the path, she doesn't have time to scream before it all goes black.

\--

“Another dead.” is how Karen greets him the next morning. He pauses for a split second before he closes the door and loses his coat and scarf to the coat rack next to the door.

“What happened?” he asks as he makes his way to his desk. He puts his briefcase on his desk and takes out his laptop and the files needed for the day.

“Basic enough, I guess. Neck snapped.”

“He's lost his touch.”

“Or is building up to the main event.” Karen replies, and he turns to see her learning against his door frame, a look on her face that says she isn't thrilled with him and his choices as of late.

He sighs. “I'm going to be fine, Karen.”

“You don't know that. You told me what he said to you. The 'you wanted my attention well now you have it' shit. He's just waiting to get you alone.”

“You don't know that.” Foggy says, and he wonders why he's even arguing. He agrees with what Karen is saying and is just as worried as she is about the millions of possibilities the Devil could use him for.

“Um, I'm pretty sure that's what he said, just in different words.”

“He's had several opportunities to kill me. Why hasn't he yet.”

The second the words are out of his mouth he wishes he never said them. The look on Karen's faces tells him that she's been thinking it, but now that it's been said it's now a possibility, and very real possibility at that.

\--

He's about to go to bed when there's a knock on the door. His entire body freezes and his heartbeat rings loud throughout his entire body. After a few minutes of tense silence and listening intently, he turns to look at his door. It feels like his entire body is focusing on the thing. Like he's waiting for it to answer itself, or for another knock. But soon a few minutes turns into half an hour, and then an hour and there's not a sound coming from outside his door.

So he stands up, and can't stop himself from walking to his door. It takes him a moment and some deep breathes, but he finds the courage to look through his peep hole -

\- and there's no one there.

\--

The knocking happens once a night for the next week. Just one knock and no one there when he checks the peep hole. His nerves on are fire and he wants to tell Karen about it, but he knows that if he does there will be nothing he could do to stop her from barging in, taking his stuff, and forcing him to move in with her.

So he decides to take matters into his own hands

This time, when the knock comes, he doesn't stand as far away as he can't without losing sight of the door. Instead, he's standing almost directly in front of it and when the expected knocks comes, he doesn't check his peep hole.

“Hello?” he calls out, his voice cracking from nerves and he waits in anticipation for any kind of response.

It's quiet for a while and Foggy starts to think that maybe the Devil has left, but then he gets his response in a low voice.

“Evening, darling.”

\--

His back is against the door and his heart is beating so widely he feels it in his ears. He's working on taking deep breathes and closes his eyes, listening intently for any sound out in the hallway. He sits like this for a while. Working on his breathing and focusing all of his energy on the outside.

Eventually he hears it, the sound of boots against the carpet of the hallway. He opens his eyes and turns his head to the side. The sound of the boots gets closer and closer until he can tell the man is standing right in front of his door.

After a moment he says, “Hi.”

There's a sound, and if Foggy had to guess, it sounds like the Devil is seating himself on the ground in front of his door.

“Darling.” is his response. “Are you going to let me in tonight?”

Tonight. He's been asked this every night since they've started whatever this is. The night Foggy actually said something to him from this side of the door changed how these things go. If Foggy says something, almost anything it seems, the Devil doesn't knock or do anything to get his attention. He just talks back in a quiet and low voice. Which is oddly confusing. Not that Foggy is stupid enough to forget that the man on the other side of the door is a grade A nut case and shouldn't be engaged at all, but Foggy thinks this is keeping him alive. Not that he also doesn’t think the man couldn't get in if he really wanted to. The fact that he can get inside this building in the first place is proof of that.

“I don't know.”

“But it's really cold outside. Do you want me to be cold?”

“There are worse things to be.”

“You're cruel.”

“You'll kill me.”

The Devil tuts. “Even the things you say are cruel. I won't kill you, or hurt you.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Well, now I'm hurt.” And if Foggy didn't know any better, he would think the man just whined at him.

\--

He shouldn't have stayed this late, but he had things to do that were easier to get done in the office. It's now nearing four and he'll be lucky if he gets three hours of sleep before he gets to repeat it all again.

He reaches his apartment building in record time and is about to unlock his door when arms stop him and turn him around.

His entire body freezes and goes into panic mode immediately. His heart is pounding wildly in his chest and he thinks he might just throw up, when a pair of lips take his in a kiss that can only be described as careful. He can't respond, doesn't, doesn't want to. But that doesn't seem to discourage the Devil. In fact, it makes him press further into Foggy until the door knob is digging painfully into his back. He wonders briefly if the man will rip his lips off with his teeth.

“Are you going to let me in?” The Devil asks when he pulls away, licking a strip up Foggy's lips.

Foggy feels panic well up inside and choke him, and the tears welling up burn his eyes. But he shakes his head anyways and musters up a 'no' that comes out in a whisper against the other mans lips.

He's kissed again, and the man is gone.

\--

He runs down the alley, taking in air in larges inhales that burns his lungs as he runs for his life. He looks behind him and let's out a noise of panic when he sees that the Devil is still behind him. Facing forward he uses the pure fear that's driving him to pick up his pace, but his legs scream in protest and he knows that he needs a break soon or he's going to buckle.

But it turns out that's not in the cards for tonight.

He hears faintly, something whistle behind him and before he can turn to see what it is he's falling and lands on his face. He tries to move but finds he can't; his feet are tied together. Before he can form another proper thought he's being dragged back by his feet. He reaches out and tries to grab onto something, anything, but there is nothing to hold on to. So, he scratches at the pavement, desperately trying to dig in finger nails into solid concrete, and ignores the pain of his skin breaking and bleeding from his efforts.

He let's out a yell when he's suddenly pulled swiftly by the feet, and disappears into the darkness.

\--

“How was your night?”

Foggy can't help but frown at the question, surprised. It's not exactly a suspicious question, but he doesn't like being asked things outside of their usual talk. It's easier to stick to a routine; easier to trick himself into thinking this isn't what it really is.

But he answers anyway, not wanting to hear the sound of knuckle against wood.

“It was all right. Nothing new or exciting happened.” he pauses for a few seconds before, “And yourself?”

“Oh, same old, same old. But I don't want to talk about me. I want to know you.”

“There's nothing to know.” Foggy says as too many emotions mix in his stomach, making his head pound and his nerves catch on fire.

The Devil hums. “But that's not true.”

“What if I don't want to talk about me?”

“I won't force you. All good things come to those who wait.”

And Foggy doesn't dare ask him what he means by that. Doesn't even want to think about this going on long enough for Foggy to become comfortable in the presence of a murderer. They may be on either side of the door, but compared to things he's seen and has read about, he knows there's really nothing stopping the Devil from ripping the door off its hinges and walking into his apartment. He's honestly surprised it hasn't happened yet, and has an itch to ask what he's waiting for. If this is some kind of twisted game he plays with all of his victims. Stalks and harasses them, and then lulls them into some twisted sense of false security before he attacks and rips their faces off with his teeth.

What he does want to know, is why he does it. He's read the police reports and all news and journal articles pertaining to the man and so far no one has any real clue as to why he does what he does.

Sure, they have their theories. All ranging from some dude off his meds to a religious extremist freak, and none of them can fully explain the mystery that is The Devil's of Hell's Kitchen.

But after spending months of his time in fear of the man, and now talking to him on a nightly basis, Foggy can't help but feel like he's not real. He can't be. These kinds of people only exists in movies and books. This kind of thing only exists in movies and books and sometimes he wonders if he's going to wake up and find out this was all some fucked up dream.

He realizes he hasn't said anything in a while, and this realization makes his heart jump and his skin to pale. He focuses himself, and listens for the man on the other side of the door. For any sound he may make. The sound of leather gloves running along the wood of the door, his back moving against it and the faint ruffling sound of fabric moving.

The sound of his voice when he hums.

\--

The two week mark before Christmas always comes out of nowhere to fuck him where it hurts, every year. For some reason, he's always surprised that it's so close to Christmas, and everything that was once daunting and too much is now exactly that, only twenty times worse because he has Christmas shopping to do.

A few years ago, back when he and Karen where broke ass college students and not slightly less broke ass defence attorneys, they tried to do 'no gift Christmas.' Which seemed like the perfect idea for two amazing friends. All they would need was each other company for a little bit, and bam, Christmas gift. Except Karen ignored the rule and now they buy each other gifts for Christmas. And if he's going to be completely honest with himself, he doesn't expect anything, but that doesn’t mean he's not delighted as fuck to get something.

So that's what brought him to the mall. To buy Karen, Bess, Brett, and few others something for Christmas. And he loathed every second of it. At least if Karen was there, it would make things fun and interesting. Instead, he had to go alone and be frustrated at the long lines and the crowds.

So when he closes his apartment door behind him, he leans against it with a heavy sigh, carefully placing his bags on the ground.

He takes off his jacket and kicks off his shoes, stretching as he walks into his living area, deciding to leave the presents for tomorrow. He's halfway through taking off his tie when he hears a swoosh of something sliding across the floor, causing him to stop and look around for the cause of the noise.

Which brings him back to his front door.

He hesitates as he looks at the black square on his floor and wonders if it'll explode if he touches it.

“It's okay.” His head snaps up at the door at the Devil's voice. “Open it.”

Foggy swallows. “What is it?” he calls out.

“If I tell you, it'd ruin the surprise.” The Devil chuckles, and when his door pushes back against it's frame, Foggy knows the Devil is now leaning against it.

It takes several moments and a mental pros and cons list to get him to pick the thing up. When he has it in his hands, he realizes it's a CD case.

“It's a CD.” he states, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. But it quickly vanishes when he imagines it being hours of someone he doesn't know screaming in pure agony as they're being killed.

“Listen to it. I made it special.”

“What are you? Fourteen?” Foggy jokes mindlessly as he inspects the disk case. He flips it over and passes it between hands a few times before he opens it with a soft pop.

“What's on it?”

“Again, it'd ruin the surprise if I told you.”

“But - ”

“Please.”

The words makes his stomach flip, and he finds it's not in disgust. Well...a bit, but not as much as it usually does when the Devil speaks like that.

So with a bit hesitancy, he pops the CD out of its case, and put it in the player. With a quick look to the door he waits for the CD to load before pressing play.

“I really can't stay...” The voices of Doris Day and Bing Crosby fill the apartment and Foggy is taken back. Never in a million years would he have expected this of all things, and doesn't register the smile slowly forming as he huffs out a disbelieving laugh.

\--

He's a bit ashamed to admit to himself that he listened to the CD a few times. It was simply a Christmas mix and a pretty good one at that. So when it finished with Nat “King” Cole's 'The Christmas Song' Foggy had gotten up and pressed play and listened to it play until he fell asleep on his couch, curled up in a ball.

The next night, when the Devil had asked him in a soft voice if he had liked it, his only response was playing it again as they both sat with their backs against the door. Not a word uttered as the music played.

\--

If someone had told Foggy this morning that he would be in the position he was, he would probably believe them, because why on earth would he not be.

The wall is cold against his back, the chill seeping through his layers and settling into his bones the longer he stays there. But he can't move, and probably won't be allowed to leave until the man holding him there let's him leave.

And there are four dead bodies behind the Devil.

His breathing is heavy, coming out in white puffs before disappearing into the air, and he's pretty sure the Devil isn't breathing at all. He's still, so still, and it gives Foggy the urge to touch him, to make him move. But he doesn't, and holds his hands against his chest and bites down on his lip.

He's tired to say things, but every word escapes him, and he wonders if this is one of those moments that would only be ruined by talking, so he stopped trying to say anything. Instead, he's focused on the man in front of him, trying not to lean into the warmth he's giving off despite how cold it is and how little he's wearing.

Part of his brain is screaming at him to push the man away. To run and find the comfort in being separated by a door like every other day for the last few months. Because he knows. Knows the man is dangerous and could kill him at any moment. That the arms bracketing him here can choke him, and that his hands could snap his neck with ease.

But he finds himself enjoying the mixture of emotions swirling around in his stomach, unlike before.

The Devil leans in and captures his mouth in a kiss that he does respond to. It's slow and languid and when they pull apart for the first time, Foggy feels warm all over.

“Again.” he whispers against the Devils mouth, and the man doesn't need to told twice, swooping in and taking his lips once again, but with more passion than before, and Foggy allows himself to hold onto the man with a grip that doesn't want to let go.

\--

The Devil asks, but no, Foggy doesn't allow him inside. Because while he has obviously lost his mind and now has weird feelings for a killer with a mouth made of sin, he still has some sense. That, and he reads and catches the news and learns exactly what the Devil does when he's not trying to talk himself inside Foggy's apartment or trying to kiss his mouth off.

Men found gutted and broken in empty warehouses and women found with not a scratch on them but a single needle wound with nothing found in in their system. It's all really horrifying yet he's come to the realization that he has this wall up unlike he had before. That he's made the Devil into two separate people. The one he reads about in the paper and the one that talks to him in gentle tones and sweet words opposite his apartment door.

It's a problem.

Because he doesn't condone murder. He can't make up excuses and pardon what the man has done and continues to do. He figures there's a reason for it, because there has to be even if it doesn't make sense to Foggy and the rest of New York.

But then again, isn't that how it always is? A person killing others for reasons that will only ever make perfect sense to the them, leaving the rest of the world grasping straws and reaching flimsy conclusions to try and make sense of it all. Because that's how people work. Desperately reaching for any kind of answer to anything they don't understand just so they can get some sleep at night.

Foggy doesn't want to be this person he's becoming. He doesn't want to ignore everything the man has done all because he's starting to feel emotions towards him that he doesn't really understand. That he feels like a teenager all over again with a crush on the prettiest boy in the whole school, and that it doesn’t matter that he's the world's biggest douche bag because he's pretty and the one everyone wants. He doesn't want to overlook and talk himself into the fact that it's okay and that he can't help feeling what he's feeling because it's bullshit. He's not stupid and he's not ignorant.

And he has no idea what to do about any of it.

\--

Things between him and Karen are tense. There is a stiffness to their conversation that has never been there before. Unless it was exam time, but back then they understood why one was short tempered why and the other wanted nothing to do with anything until it was all over.

But now it feels like they can't talk about anything that doesn't pertain to a case they have or something as mundane as the weather or how a mutual friend is doing.

It hurts because he wants to talk to her about so much but knows that she'd do his head in for his stupidity and recklessness. It would be very difficult to explain why the most dangerous man on the planet is not exactly as he seems. And while he does in fact kill many people in horrid ways, stalks him on a regular basis and still thinks it's okay to be an all around creep, he's also soft and quiet and has a laugh that so easily gets under his skin, alighting it in tingles. Makes his heart pick up in the best possible way as well as make him feel...

Okay, so maybe he's not the best person to have any type of feelings for other than fear and disgust, and Foggy can admit that he's dropped the ball so hard he's touch downed right into Satan's corner. But he can't help himself. He knows it'll boil down to nothing but regret and a terrible fate, that there are no happy endings in a story like this.

He just can't help himself.

\--

The Devil is standing as if poised for a fight, but there's no fight to be had. It was over before it had a chance to begin, yet the man is standing there tense and it's obvious his entire body is in ready mode.

Foggy feels the urge to walk over to him and run his hands along his shoulders and see if his touch would take away the tension, but he doesn't move from his spot a few feet away.

“I'm not that surprised you murdered him.” Foggy says the only thing he can think of, unable to stand in silence any longer. He quickly glances at the man that's now lying dead between them. Apparently he had been following him home. The Devil didn't tell him anything else before silence fell over them.

“Look, I get that they've all done horrible things and I do think you're doing the world a favour by getting rid of them,” he says in a rush, and wonders if he should really be admitting that right now, but doesn't give himself much time to think abut it, “but it's still murder. You do know you're a murderer, right?”

“That's a bit harsh, don't you think?” The Devil speaks for the second time tonight and despite his body language, his voice is as calm and low as ever.

“No, I don't. You just snapped a mans neck in front of me without hesitation, you're a murderer - ” realization dawns on Foggy's, the suddenness changing his expression and tone instantly, “oh my god! You just killed a man in front of me, I'm a witness! I am now an accessory to murder! I can be put away for this you spandex wearing asshole! How could you even - !”

The Devil attempts to silence Foggy by rushing over and wrapping himself around the man, but it doesn't do anything to silence or soften the string of profanity that comes out of Foggy's mouth, worded together in a way that's almost poetic in how effortlessly it flows.

“- you absolute cock fuck, what the hell?!”

The Devil chuckles, “I always knew you'd have a charming way with words.”

“Shut up! It's not funny, I am a witness to your bullshit – will you stop nuzzling me!”

The Devil hums and doesn't stop nuzzling behind Foggy's ear. “But you're so warm.”

“I don't care.”

“Why do you always say such hurtful things?” there is no sadness or hurt in the Devil's voice. In fact, if the man wasn't busy attempting to crawl and burrow inside of him, Foggy would see the face of a man who is as content as ever.

“You're still a murder.” Foggy mumbles, giving in the the body wrapping around him, and feeling different now that those words are out in the open. That he's said them to the mans face and has heard himself say it. He thought for a while that this would only make him fully understand why being around and with this man wasn't worth it and probably to stupidest thing Foggy could ever do. But instead, it only made him feel relieved. Like it was something they needed to talk about but avoided and now that it's out in the open, the weight of it's all gone, leaving Foggy feeling oddly tired and drained.

“I know.”

\--

There's something about the classics. Don't get him wrong, Foggy was a man made for twenty-first century music, he will take Beyonce and Drake to his grave. But when a song that he listened to while growing up unexpectedly pops up on his iPod, he can't help himself – he sings.

He sings so loud and passionately that everyone within a five mile radius will know that someone is jamming out hardcore to the songs that defined many people's youths.

Which is why when REO Speedwagons 'I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore' breaks through the blizzard of Christmas music, he is very much surprised and completely ready for the next five minutes.

Five minutes of serenading his laptop and desk lap, complete with exaggerated gestures and lip syncing as he gives himself fully to the 80s classic.

But what he doesn't expect to hear as the music fades, is Karen's laughter and clapping. He looks up, surprised, to see her standing in his doorway, a smile on her face yet the unmistakable look of doubt in her eyes as she claps and shouts “Encore!”

He smiles and bows for her, which only makes her laugh harder.

Yeah, they're going to be okay.

\--

One of the hardest things you can do, is to pretend that you don't hear anything. Because you can close your eyes and block yourself off to any images that the real world wants to give you. But no amount of ear covering can stop the screaming from spilling past your hands and vibrating your eardrums to the point of pain.

He's tried singing to himself. Has tried thinking about happy things and memories that he's most fond of. He even tried counting sheep.

Yet nothing could save him from the sound of men being absolutely slaughtered just a few feet away from him. He can't turn their screams into anything else than what they are.

Can't lie to himself about all of this.

He doesn't register the absence of noise right away, the static like ringing in his ears convincing him it's still going on for much longer than it does. But when he finally clues into the fact that it's now dead silent, he chances cracking open an eye.

The Devil is kneeling in front of him, his face as close as he can get it without them touching, and Foggy can't help the tears that spill down his cheeks, or stop himself from reaching out and touching the mans cheek, eyes going back and forth between the split lip and the red mark that will definitely form a bruise on his chin by sunrise. (He ignores the blood on his clothing, and how the splatter almost made it impossible to see the red mark.)

“You portray yourself as something from nightmares. Inhuman, yet you're just a man.” Foggy gently caresses the mans cheek with the back of his fingers. The Devil lets out a shaky breath and leans into his touch, and even though Foggy can't see his eyes he knows they're closed. He can almost feel the emotion radiating off him, feels like he can see how this is affecting him. Foggy wonders if anyone has ever shown him any love, or if it's been a while since someone touched him so tenderly.

“I am inhuman.” The Devil whispers, reaching up to grab Foggy's wrist with a careful touch, his fingers circling around it, not in an attempt to remove it; Foggy thinks he just needs to hold on.

“Maybe.” Foggy says, a sad smile on his face as the tears keep coming. It takes everything he has to stop the shaking in his voice as he tries to say what he feels he needs to. He looks up to the sky when the Devil leans into him fully, letting go and just falling into Foggy's arms.

And he doesn't hesitate with this, just simply wraps his arms around the man and let's his neck be nuzzled as the Devil whispers a prayer he's never heard before, into his skin.

\--

There are things that don't change no matter how many times they've locked lips and have had intense speeches in dark alleyways, and this is one of them. His back is against his door and so is the Devil's. They're talking in hushes tones and while Foggy enjoys this more than he ever says, he's so incredibly tired. It's the kind of tired that he feels in his bones, weighing him down and making him dizzy.

He's thought about it. A lot, actually. Thinks about how nice it would be, and as always, how completely stupid it would be, which only makes the idea more appealing to him now.

“I'm tired.” he whispers, knowing that the man on the other side of the door will hear him, he always does.

There's his classic chuckle, as deep and amused as always and it fills Foggy's heart. “I'll let you sleep.” he says, and Foggy shakes his head despite the fact he can't see him do it.

“No, don't.”

“You want me to stay, yet you want to go to sleep. You can't have both. I'll let you go for tonight.”

“But what if I want both.” he says before he can talk himself out of it.

He's met with silence.

He takes in a deep breath, stands up and unlocks the door, allowing the snap of it opening to echo through the room and by extension, the hallway. He wonders what's going through the mind of the other man. Wants to know if he's making the biggest mistake of his life, or the most foolish.

Or the best.

He watches the clock, and when its digital numbers flip and tell him it's finally Christmas, he opens the door the Devil is standing there, leaning against the wall of the hallway, his mouth set in a line and his shoulders tense. Foggy watches him for awhile, taking him in and making sure he's ready for this.

“I trust you.” Though he isn't entirely sure that's true, but right now he's all too convinced it is.

The Devil runs a hand over his mouth and starts to fidget where he stands. Like Foggy's words aren't sitting well in him, or he's having a hard time comprehending them. “Why do you trust me?” he asks, his voice a whisper.

“I don't know why.” Foggy says, stopping himself from reaching out. “I know I should be running for the hills, screaming for help, and part of is all to aware of what you are. But I feel...undeniably safe with you.”

“You shouldn't feel safe with me. I'm dangerous.”

“Self-aware.” Foggy nods. “I like that in a person.”

“I'm being serious.”

“So am I. It's not everyday you meet someone who knows themselves. It's refreshing. Attractive.”

That gets the Devil to crack a smile. He huffs out a breath, holding in laughter and it causes little knots of happiness to tighten in Foggy's stomach. He does have a very beautiful smile.

“Attractive?” he asks, disbelief in his voice but covered with an air of casualty, “You don't know what I look like.”

“So? What does that matter?”

“It matters to a lot of people.”

“But not all. Sure, I can admit looks are important, but they're not everything. Personality. The way someone makes you feel and laugh...that's what matters in the end. And the way you make me feel...” Foggy trails off, unable to put into words how this dangerous and psychopathic man makes him feel. Like he's calm and ready to explode all at once. Like his heart is bared for the entire world to see, pumping red hot from adrenaline. He feels free and good and so _scared_.

“I think you should come inside.” he whispers, and before the Devil can open his mouth to speak again, and before Foggy decides to remind him this is all he's wanted for months, he grabs the man by the front of his shirt, and pulls him inside.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wish you all a safe and happy holiday! Lots of love xx
> 
> http://waynesgrayson.tumblr.com/
> 
> EDIT: It's been almost a year since I wrote this and I have gotten so many questions about Dorothy and what she had done.  
> But that's the point. We don't know. Only Matt does.  
> I know it sucks because we see terrible examples as to why Matt kills, and then we see someone who could easily be you or I or someone out there who isn't a complete piece of trash, yet Matt kills them anyway. Why? We don't know. That's the point. We don't know if this is to let us know Matt is 1000 percent cray and to fear for Foggy even more, or if justice is being served.  
> I really hope that clears things up for any re-readers/future readers. I really do appreciate all of you for taking the time to read and leave kudos and leave comments. All of these things really do brighten up my day.  
> Lot's of love and have a safe and happy Halloween!  
> xx


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